The other night I looked at a mark On my wife’s arm And gave it a scratch. “Just wondering if it’s like mine,” I said. “Will it scrape off? Remember the time you made me Go to a dermatologist to check out A mole on my cheek And he said it was a …..”

I lost the word. “The doc said it was not cancerous, That it was just a body…. a body…” “Barnacle!” my wife shouted. “A body barnacle. And I said I always thought I had married a crusty old sailor.”

But, why couldn’t I come up with the word? I’m Barnacle Bill the Sailor. Who’s that knocking at my door? It’s Barnacle Bill the Sailor!

Late that night I replayed The conversation in my mind. Was the word loss a senior moment? Maybe a chemo-fog event? I’d read that years after chemotherapy Cancer patients sometimes have trouble With losing words, attention, thoughts. “No big deal,” a friend said. But for a writer to lose words? B… Bar? Bar what? It took me a few anxious minutes, Lying there late at night, Searching for that one word. B.. B… uh, Bar “NICKEL!” the inner voice yelled. That’s it. Barnacle!

In the morning I tell my wife About the night’s challenge. “But, I finally remembered,” I bragged. “Bah…Bah …Oh, no, it’s gone again.” “Just scratch the surface,” my muse said. “It will come back to you. It’s just stuck in there Like a barnacle resisting The scratch.”